GOAT ALLEY

Goat Alley
A TRAGEDY OF NEGRO LIFE

By
ERNEST HOWARD CULBERTSON

CINCINNATI
STEWART KIDD COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
STEWART KIDD COMPANY

All rights reserved

All acting rights, both amateur and professional, are fully protected
under copyright law and are reserved by the author. Application
to produce Goat Alley must be made to him, in care of
the publishers, Stewart-Kidd Company, Cincinnati.

Printed in the United States of America
The Caxton Press

TO

FREDERIC AND ALICE MULHERN ROBINSON

INTRODUCTION

In a dingy little hall on a side street Mr. Ernest Howard Culbertson began rehearsals of “Goat Alley,” his tragedy of Negro life in a Washington slum. The actors were, with one exception, amateurs—colored working people who gave their time and services for the sake of what they felt to be an artistic expression of the life of their race. The author had no sociological intention; he had no ambition to be a propagandist. He had not even a special interest in the racial problem. He thought that he had come upon an action that has the quality of tragic inevitableness. He thought, furthermore, that tragedy does not reside in pomp and circumstance, but in the profound realities of human helpfulness and human suffering, and that poor Lucy Belle struggling to maintain her spiritual integrity in Goat Alley was a protagonist worthy of the sternest art and the largest sympathy.

He built up his action from within. He saw that the Negro cannot yet hope, like the white man, to transcend common standards. He must first reach them. Hence the Negro girl’s struggle for her own integrity is not yet the struggle of Nora or Magda—the struggle to be true to herself; it is the struggle to remain true to the man of her real choice. To transcend a necessary order one must first have achieved it. The achievement of social order in the moral sense is therefore the right and necessary aim of the Negro proletarian and the right and necessary theme of a drama dealing with his life.

In the play, Lucy Belle fights valiantly her losing fight. Loneliness, poverty, ignorance, terror, drive her from disaster to disaster, from one unwilling infidelity to another. But she never wavers in her soul. In her utter confusion and failure she kills the child that stands between her and all her hopes and at once expiates that action with her own death. Neither the subject nor the circumstances are new. But novelty is no mark of fine literature. The motives, the people, the place, the color of life—these are new. Every triangle play is a “Medea”. There are subjects that are classical because they are native to the character and circumstances of mankind. Such is the subject of “Goat Alley”. The structure is pure and uncompromising. No American play has had a finer or truer moment than that at the end of the second act when Lucy Belle, her lodger lost, her money stolen, her child crying with hunger, consents quietly, yet in such despair, to rent her vacant room to the worthless, ingratiating barber. Hauptmann would not have disdained that quiet moment of rich, tragic implications; Galsworthy would have approved it.

No competent observer will fail to note here the evidence of an effort as serious, as intelligent, as sensitive to the character and quality of what makes tragedy as our recent theatre has produced.

Ludwig Lewisohn.

New York, July, 1921.

GOAT ALLEY

CHARACTERS

Goat Alley was first publicly presented at the Bijou Theatre, New York City, on the evening of June 20, 1921.

ACT I

The curtain rises on the sitting-room of a Negro’s squalid dwelling in Goat Alley, Washington, D. C. At Right Back, there is a door giving directly on the street and when it is open one gets a glimpse of the miserable, tumble-down houses on the opposite side. At Left Back is a window, with one pane broken and an old shirt stuffed in the hole. The one or two old rag-carpet rugs which lie on the floor serve only in a small measure to cover its bareness. Several old, broken and battered chairs stand here and there about the room. At Left Center is a door leading into the other downstairs room of the house. Between it and the wall, Back, is a door opening into a closet.

There is another door, down Right, giving on a flight of stairs which lead to the one upper room of the house. Near the door, Left Center, and toward the front stands a battered table on which lie, in disordered array newspapers and one or two dog-eared books with their backs off. It is evening and a lighted oil lamp, with the chimney badly smoked, rests in the center. The wick is turned low and the guttering flame causes countless shadows to disport themselves eerily about the room. Between the door, Left Center, and the door, up Left, stands a fancy cupboard. There is a large easy chair between the table and the wall, Left Center. Both of these pieces of furniture look out of place in the room.

Flamboyant lithographs, a gilt-framed picture of Jack Johnson, wearing his golden smile, a framed engraving of Abraham Lincoln, and several grotesque crayon portraits of members of the family adorn the dirty and discolored walls. An old corset, a half-eaten roll, and a doll, with its head off, lie about on the floor. A horseshoe is nailed over the center of the door, Back.

Aunt Rebecca, an old coal-black Negress, enters, Back. She wears no hat and has just a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She presents the appearance of an animated mummy. Her eyes are small and bead-like and shine with an uncanny lustre; her hands are long and bony, resembling the talons of a hawk. She glances about inquiringly, gives an impatient grunt, then turns and slowly closes the door.

AUNT REBECCA (in high-pitched raspy tones as she moves to the Center)

Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle!

LUCY BELLE (from the next room)

Dat yo’, Aun’ Becky?

AUNT REBECCA

Yas, honey.

LUCY BELLE

Jes’ a minute. Changin’ mah skirt.

(Aunt Rebecca drops into a chair, Left Center, and begins a weird and doleful chant.)

AUNT REBECCA

Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble in mah soul! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble! (High treble) Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble in mah soul! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble in mah soul! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a!

(Lucy Belle enters, Left. She is a frail, light brown young Negress of about twenty-eight. She has a nervous, hesitant—and sometimes wistful—manner. She wears a plain black waist and a black skirt, patched in several places.)

LUCY BELLE (feelingly, as she kisses Aunt Rebecca)

Aun’ Becky! I’se so glad ter see yo’ agin! ’Deed I is! (Draws up a chair and sits near her.)

AUNT REBECCA (affectionately)

Po’ful glad ter see yo’, honey!

LUCY BELLE

Seem like ole times—seein’ yo’! Lessee—how-some long yo’ all been ’way?

AUNT REBECCA (reflectively)

Um! Um! (Puts a hand to her head and purses her lips.) Dat gin got mah haid all tangle up! Um! Keep tellin’ G’orge whiskey suit me bettah—but he like gin. How long? Um! Um! Gawd-a-massy! Be a yeah in Feb-wary!

(Lucy Belle exclaims incredulously.)

LUCY BELLE

Go ’long!

AUNT REBECCA

Sho’ has! I—I was free mon’s in Cumberlan’ wid Sadie—she dat slim yallow one, yo’ know—got a mole on dis cheek. (Indicates.) Some say dat de reason she so lucky. I ain’ sayin’. Up dere mos’ six mon’s wid Em’ly—she dat fat brown gal. (Lucy Belle nods.) An’ den I reckon ’bout fo’ mon’s in Frederick wid Henry. (Throws back her head proudly.) Henry great big fine lookin’ niggah. Ain’ so lucky, dough. Bawn in de da’k ob de moon.

LUCY BELLE

I ’member him. I ’member seein’ him ’roun’ yere w’en his fader died—ole Uncle Henry,—

AUNT REBECCA (scornfully)

Huh! Dat niggah was’n’ his fader. No, indeedy! Dat lil’ scrootchin’ monkey was’n’ calc’lated ter be de fader ob no boy like Henry.

(Lucy Belle gives an exclamation of surprise. Aunt Rebecca sits in perplexed preoccupation for several moments. At length she speaks very slowly—dragging out the words, one after another.)

AUNT REBECCA

’Deed chile, I kain’t seem ter ’member who Henry’s fader was. Dat gin got mah haid so tangle up.

LUCY BELLE

Lot done happen since yo’ been ’way.

AUNT REBECCA

Don’ I know it! Don’ I know it!

(Fanny Dorsey, a little Negro girl of eight, and Israel Dorsey, a little Negro boy of four, run in, Left.)

FANNY

Mamma! Yo’ all gwine ’way?

LUCY BELLE

I ain’ gwine nowhar.

ISRAEL

Mamma! Git me some candy!

LUCY BELLE (harshly, as she rises)

Yo’ all hush! I ain’ gwine ter git yo’ nuffin!

FANNY

Mamma! I wan’ ter go out an’ play wid Gordy!

LUCY BELLE

Shet up! Yo’ ain’ gwine ter play wid nobody! Git in dere an’ git ter bed! Go ’long! Yo’ yere me? (Threateningly.) Wan’ me ter beat yo’?

ISRAEL

Mamma! Git me—

(Lucy Belle grabs them roughly and pushes them through the door, Left, closing it after them. Their cries are heard for several moments and then gradually cease.)

LUCY BELLE (irritably)

Some day I’se gwine ter git good an’ mad an’ knock dere haids off!

AUNT REBECCA

How’s Sam—?

LUCY BELLE (drops down on a chair near Aunt Rebecca and exclaims ecstatically)

Jes’ great! Aun’ Becky, he’s de bes’ ole budigee in de worl’!

AUNT REBECCA

Ain’ nobody got nuffin’ on Sam.

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ said it! Jes’ as good ter me as he know how ter be. Do ev’ythin’ I ask him.

AUNT REBECCA

Don’ haf ter tell me dat.

LUCY BELLE

He’s de onlies’ niggah I evah loved.

AUNT REBECCA

Don’ make ’em no bettah den Sam.

LUCY BELLE

He’s mah honey-baby, buddy boy!

AUNT REBECCA (with a good-natured chuckle)

Listen ter yo!

LUCY BELLE (her face clouding)

But he ain’ had such good luck lately—.

AUNT REBECCA

How come dat—?

LUCY BELLE

I dunno—. Till ’bout a monf ago he wuk steady fo de Simpson Express Company. Drive a wagon fo’ dem.

AUNT REBECCA

Dat w’at he doin’ w’en I lef’.

LUCY BELLE

Sho’, sho’—. Good job, too. But de wuk gits slack—an’ dey lets him out.

AUNT REBECCA

Go ’long!

LUCY BELLE

He try an’ try ter git anoder job—but could’n’ seem ter fin’ nuffin’. Times is bad, yo’ know. Neah walk his feet off jes’ seein’ ef he kain’t git somefin’ by de day.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ don’ say!

LUCY BELLE

Sam’s as steady as dey make ’em. Ef he ain’ wukkin he jes’ ’bout goes crazy.

AUNT REBECCA

Don’ I know it.

LUCY BELLE

So finally he up an’ gwine ter Baltimo’—an’ gits a job wid de Street Departmen’—diggin’ ditches fo’ wattah mains.

AUNT REBECCA

In Baltimo’—!

LUCY BELLE

Yas, indeedy! I been at him fo’ a long time ter go ovah dere.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ is—!

LUCY BELLE

Aun’ Becky, dey’s some niggahs ’roun’ dis town—dat jes’ watchin’ dere chanct ter blackguard him an me—git back at us any way dey kin.

AUNT REBECCA (with a little snort)

Go ’long, now—w’at yo’ talkin’ ’bout.

LUCY BELLE

Dey sho’ is—! An’ jes as soon as he git somefin’ steady—an’ dat pay a lil’ bettah we gwine ter move ovah dere.

AUNT REBECCA (with a wail)

Gawd-a-massy, w’at yo’ po’ ole Aun’ Becky gwine ter do!

LUCY BELLE

Be mighty sorry ter leave yo’, Aun’ Becky—!

AUNT REBECCA (with facetious fervor)

Why, chile, w’at yo’ ’spose I done come back ter Wash’nin’ fo’?

LUCY BELLE

I know yo’ gwine ter miss me—an’ I’se gwine ter miss yo’—but it tain’ so far away dat I kain’t git ovah—now an’ den. An’ yo’ kin come ovah an’ see me—!

AUNT REBECCA (shaking her head)

Lawsy, lawsy—dat’s de way. Jes’ as soon as yo’ git ter likin’ somebody—dey up an’ gwine ’way.

LUCY BELLE

It gwine ter be bes’ fo’ bof ob us, Aun’ Becky—!

AUNT REBECCA

I reckon yo’ know—but jes’ de same—

LUCY BELLE

An’—an’ terday I feels mo’ like we got ter git ’way den evah.

AUNT REBECCA

How come dat—?

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ know Sam ain’ nevah had nuffin’ much ter do wid oder gals.

AUNT REBECCA (with a nod)

He don’ look like he ’ud chase ’em much.

LUCY BELLE

He don’! He ain’ dat kin’! But—but fo’ de las’ free weeks dey’s a gal dat he uster know—long time ago—keep comin’ ’roun’ yere.

AUNT REBECCA

Go ’long!

LUCY BELLE

Her name Lizzie Gibbs—an’ she de hardes’ ole yallow gal yo’ evah seen.

AUNT REBECCA

She come ’roun’ yere—!

LUCY BELLE

Sam only gits home onct or twict a week—mos’ly only onct. I allas goes ter de do’ w’en he’s yere—an’ ef she come—he duck upstairs fo’ she kin lay eyes on him.

AUNT REBECCA

Would’n’ stan’ fo’ nuffin’ like dat!

LUCY BELLE

W’at yo’ gwine ter do? She so hard she liable ter do anathin’. She—she was yere dis mawnin’. She say she gwine ter keep comin’ ’till she see Sam.

AUNT REBECCA

Gawd-a-massy! Put de po-lice on her—!

LUCY BELLE (shakes her head)

Ef I do dat, she liable ter make trouble—

AUNT REBECCA

W’at trouble kin she make ef dey locks her up?

LUCY BELLE

She might make trouble ’tween me an’ Sam—ef she’s a min’ ter—

AUNT REBECCA

’Tween yo’ an’ Sam—! Go ’long!

LUCY BELLE

Sam don’ care no mo’ fo’ her den he do a rat—but she crazy jealous—

AUNT REBECCA

’Co’se she is—an’ dat’s de reason—

LUCY BELLE (touches Aunt Rebecca on the knee)

I tell yo’ why I got ter go easy wid her—till I see mah way out. Maybe yo’ kin he’p me—

AUNT REBECCA

Sho’—!

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ see she’s de onlies’ one ob all dem blackguardin’ niggahs dat uster live ’roun’ me ovah dere in Carter Street—fo’ I moves yere ter Goat Alley—(Breaks off and stares sombrely into space for several moments, then proceeds with a slight catch in her voice.) Aun’ Becky, I’se had it hard. Ain’ nevah had much luck—’deed I ain’—’cept meetin’ up wid Sam agin.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ ain’ nevah tol’ me much ’bout yo’se’f.

LUCY BELLE

Nevah tol’ nobody—much. W’at’s de use?

AUNT REBECCA

Go on! W’at’s on yo’ min’?

LUCY BELLE

Mah moder died w’en I’se fifteen—an’ Pap goes off ter Texas an’ I ain’ nevah seen him since. Slim—mah bro’der—he was jes’ a lil’ kid—baby mos’—an’ I did’n’ have no oder people.

AUNT REBECCA

Bless yo’ soul—!

LUCY BELLE

Done mos’ anathin’ I could—jes’ ter make a livin’. Wuk in laundries, cook, wait on tables—. Starts gwine ’roun’ wid de boys, too. Yo’ know how a gal is. Meets up wid Sam an’ Jeff Bisbee an’ Ed Cales—an’ a bunch-a oders like dem. Jeff hang ’roun’ aftah me mos’ all de time—an’ Sam do, too. Sam allas a wuk steady—but Jeff, he nevah wukked ’less he had ter. He’s—he a hard niggah—allas drunk, an’ fightin’ an’ shootin’ crap. But—well—yo’ know how a gal is—(Aunt Rebecca grunts and nods.) He looks good ter me, kase he wear swell clothes, an’ spend money free, an’ boas’ how many cops he cut. Was’n’ long, dough, fo’ Jeff git crazy jealous-a Sam—an’ one day—down yere in Four-an’-a-ha’f Street—dey meets up an’ has a fight. (As though somewhat thrilled by the memory of it.) Man-day, but dey flew at each oder! Like a couple-a wildcats! But de po-lice bus’ in on ’em. Dey ketch Jeff—but Sam git away.

AUNT REBECCA

Mah soul—!

LUCY BELLE

Jeff gits six mon’s in de wukhouse. I meets up wid Sam a few days aftah. Like de fool I is—I ’cuses him ob startin’ de fight.

AUNT REBECCA

Hush yo’ mouf!

LUCY BELLE

I did’n’ know who did—’zactly—but I was sore kase Jeff was in jail. He been takin’ me ’roun’, yo’ see—spendin’ lots-a money on me—an’—an’—Oh, well I jes’ a damn fool, kase I ain’ got nobody ter look aftah me. (Shakes her head remorsefully.) Sam gits mad—an’ quits comin’ ’roun’ ter see me. Tells me, now, dat he git de idea dat I didn’t care nuffin’ at all ’bout him. All de time he crazy ’bout me! (Pauses a moment in reverent thought.) He was livin’ ovah in M Street. Ole Lizzie Gibbs livin’ dere, too. Dat’s whar he meets up wid her. She had been foolin’ ’roun’ aftah him fo’ a long time. Aftah dat scrap me an’ him had, he gits so down in de mouf dat he takes up wid her fo’ a while.

AUNT REBECCA

Dat ole yallaw gal yo’ jes’ tellin’ me ’bout?

LUCY BELLE (nodding)

Yas. But only fo’ a lil’ while—he say. He seen right away how hard she was—an’ dat she was’n’ no good—an’ he draps her like a hot tater.

AUNT REBECCA

Reckon he would—!

LUCY BELLE

Den he decides ter beat it—an’ goes off ter Atlanta. Stays dere five yeahs. Only come back yere ’bout a yeah ago.

AUNT REBECCA

An’ yo’ ain’ seen him—all dat time?

LUCY BELLE

No.

AUNT REBECCA

Gawd-a-massy!

LUCY BELLE

But he say he was thinkin’ ’bout me all de time! Nevah fo’git me an’ nevah seen any oder gal dat he like bettah! (Shakes her head.) An’ I sho’ nevah did fo’git him! Ef I’d only stuck ter him. Would’n’ have had ha’f de trouble I is. Yo’ see—yo’ see, aftah he’d been gone a while I began ter see w’at a good fellah he’d been. (Pauses a moment in sombre thought.) While Jeff was in de wukhouse I marries Ed Cales. He uster bootblack on de Avenue an’ carry sample cases fo’ drummers. Fo’ a lil’ while he drive a wagon fo’ a white man dat run a meat stan’ on Louisiana Avenue. But mos’ de time he don’ do nuffin’ but lay ’roun de house. (Contemptuously.) He wasn’ no good—jes’ a loafin’, no-count niggah dat lay ’roun an’ let a gal wuk fo’ him—long as she would stan’ fo’ it. I lives wid him two yeahs. Den one day he say he gwine down ter Richmon’ fo’ a few days, beats it off—an’ I ain’ nevah seen him since.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ lucky ter git rid-a him so easy!

LUCY BELLE (nodding)

’Deed I was! (Sighs heavily.) ’Bout free mon’s aftah dat I meets Jeff Bisbee ovah in Gerner’s one day—an’—an’ he walks home wid me. I’se livin’ ovah in Carter Street den. (Gives a little nervous shudder.) He shoot off his mouf great. Tol’ me how much he think-a me—an’ dat I is de onlies’ gal dat evah got him goin’—an’ all dat kin’-a stuff. He say dat he broke—but dat he ’spec’ ter collec’ some money in a week or two—an’ dat he don’ know w’at he gwine ter do till den. Begs me ter let him stay dere wid me fo’ a few days. (Drops her head and sighs.) I finally does. De longer he stay de harder he git, an’ by-an’-by he say ef I don’ let him stay dere all de time he gwine ter kill me. He say ef I call de po-lice he gwine ter lay fo’ me—an’ watch his chanct—night an’ day—till he git me. Hones’, I gits so scar’t I did’n’ hardly know w’at ter do. An’—an’ so he keeps livin’ on dere wid me—an’ I keeps thinkin’ mo’ an’ mo’ ’bout Sam—an’ wishin’ I’d stuck ter him—an’ dat I knowed whar he was.

AUNT REBECCA

’Deed, honey, I knows how yo’ must-a felt.

LUCY BELLE

He wuk in a livery stable ovah on C Street fo’ a while. Couldn’ git him ter do nuffin’ steady. Mos’ de time he jes’ lay ’roun’ de house an’ guzzle gin—guzzle gin—an’ w’en he ain’ doin’ dat, he out in de alley shootin’ crap wid Mink Hall an’ Slim an’ dat gang.

AUNT REBECCA

He wuss den no-count!

LUCY BELLE

I was a fool, I knows—ter stick ter him. ’Deed I was! But I’se so scar’t an’ down in de mouf dat I ain’ got good sense. (Aunt Rebecca nods sympathetically.) All de time Jeff keep gittin’ harder an’ harder. An’ me wukkin’ mah haid off ter feed him an’ de chillen. Ev’y onct in while he gits mad an’ beats me up. Finally I’se pretty neah crazy. One night w’en he’s away I gits mah broder Slim ter come ovah an’ he’p me. We packs ev’ythin’ up an’ moves ovah yere—an’ I did’n’ tell nobody whar I was gwine.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ look like yo’ had somefin’ on yo’ min’—dat fust day I seen yo’ yere!

LUCY BELLE

’Deed I did! (Shakes her head.) Ain’ seen hide nor hair-a him since. (Abruptly, after a moment or two of troubled thought.) Yo’—yo’ see, Aun’ Becky, ef dey’s anabody in de worl’ dat Sam hate—it—it Jeff Bisbee—

AUNT REBECCA

Sho! Sho!

LUCY BELLE

Hate him like poison! (Hesitatingly.) I—I ain’ nevah tol’ him dat I live wid Jeff.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ ain’—?

LUCY BELLE

Ain’ had de nerve! He know dat I married Ed Cales—an’ I tol’ him mos’ ev’ythin’ else—an’ he say w’at is pas is pas’. But yo’ see it was Jeff dat bus’ him an’ me up befo’—an’ he call him de hardes’ niggah in Wash’nin’—

AUNT REBECCA

Any way ob him findin’ out—?

LUCY BELLE

Only ef somebody tell him.

AUNT REBECCA

Who know—?

LUCY BELLE

Slim, an’ dem people in Carter Street, an’ ole Lizzie Gibbs—

AUNT REBECCA

She know—?

LUCY BELLE (nodding)

Sho’.

AUNT REBECCA

Den’ yo’ bettah watch out—kase ef she like w’at yo’ tell me she ain’ gwine ter keep it to herse’f.

LUCY BELLE

I reckon she ain’—an’ dat’s w’at got me so worried. Yo see, she yere Sam talk so much ’bout me dat it make her crazy jealous. W’en he gwine ’way ter Atlanta, she figure dat ef he come back he mos’ likely come ter me fust. Leas’-ways dat w’at I think she figure. So she move ovah dere ter Carter Street, an’ take a house near me, wid de idea dat maybe she kin bus’ me an’ Sam up—ef he come back. I was married ter Ed Cales den—but aftah while I takes up wid Jeff—like I done tol’ yo’—an’ all de time she’s watchin’ me like a hawk widout me knowin’ it—.

AUNT REBECCA

Tryin’ ter git somefin’ on yo’—!

LUCY BELLE

Sho’! An’ now—now dat she found out whar I live—an’ dat he’s back—she’s comin’ at me agin—!

AUNT REBECCA

Put de po-lice on her!

LUCY BELLE

Den she boun’ ter tell Sam—an’ lie an’ blackguard on me wuss den evah—! Don’ yo’ see—? (Twining and intertwining her fingers and staring into space with a distraught expression.) I don’ know w’at ter do!

(The children suddenly give vent to shouts and can be heard romping wildly in the room, off Left.)

LUCY BELLE (rising)

Listen ter dem chillen—! (Moving toward, Left.) ’Scuse me while I puts dem ter bed.

(Aunt Rebecca sits in a brown study.)

AUNT REBECCA (as Lucy Belle nears the door, Left)

Lucy Belle—!

LUCY BELLE (pausing)

Yas.

AUNT REBECCA